Exoskeleton
by Colleentj
Summary: "She could see the scars and splinters and the tears gulped back, could see the fears and regrets that tied him down..."


Adam figured that if he kept treating himself in this manner, then eventually, yes, he would die. It would be a slow and bitter death; death by sorrow, now that was a new one. Except it wasn't new. Not really, not when you thought about it.

Informing his mother had been the worst part. His father had died long ago, but she had remained- small and sad and worn, but there'd still been some fight in her. So when Adam had relayed news of Ian's death, she'd been relatively quiet. There were no tears, as melodrama wasn't really in her nature. She hadn't wept at the burial, either, and a part of Adam almost wished that she would. Humans couldn't just bottle everything up, they'd explode. But on second thought, he, if anyone, was guilty of that.

She moved Ian's photograph off of the mantlepiece after that and carried it with her. She held onto it in a stiff, sad way that made Adam's heart stutter. She slouched in an odd way; spoke less, felt more. Eyes downcast and heart hurting. The damage done to Adam didn't compare to the pain that his mother was drowning in.

But he didn't like considering what pain he'd been subjected to, not now, not ever. He wasn't familiar with pain; he'd learned to shut it out at a young age. And yet he couldn't shut out Ian- Ian as a boy in soft pajamas, and Ian as a skinny teenager out in the sailboat, and Ian's face the night of his school formal, and Ian with his arms around Adam the night of Adam's twenty-first. Smiling and laughing and shining with joy, because, well, that was Ian, all right. Even on the battlefield he was exhuberant. How could a person that was exploding with so much personality just fade from the world? It was like turning out the lights. Everything was dark after that.

But such thoughts sent Adam's mind reeling. Not that it wasn't already.

She had offered, had _begged _to try and save him. Oh, Samus...

Now Adam stood solitary in his office, one palm resting against the glass panels separating him from the whirring metropolis outside. He'd spent far too long feeling like this. It was starting to sting, now, in a way that he couldn't quite comprehend. Pain... what a magnificent thing, pain. Red, if anything. The color red. And what a beautiful red.

Not that he wanted to romanticize pain. Nobody did. But it had been far too long since he'd allowed for any cracks in his armor, and stiff nods and polite smiles had caused his eyes to glaze over long ago. He'd always thought himself to be a bit robotic. Understandable, he supposed. But what else was he supposed to do? Emotion was too deep a prospect to hunt for. He was beyond it, now. He knew a thing or two about forcefields. Undoubtedly, he was inside of one. Not that it was visible. If anything, it was invisible because it _didn't really exist_. And yet he had managed to repel everyone. Even himself.

Oh, God. How... that was _Ian_, for crying out loud! _Ian_, his kid brother Ian, and if only he hadn't been so obsessed with the mission, his brother could have been spared. But that would have required Samus' intervention, and by no means could he lose her, too. He couldn't even comprehend it. She was far too precious to him...

As if on cue, a voice sounded behind him.

"Adam?"

His hands unclenched as he pulled away from the glass, pivoting on his heel and catching sight of her. Hair down, skin soft, clean and young and pretty. An inter-galactic warrior, yes, but still. _Samus_.

He didn't respond. He could only shake and tremble in place, forcing himself into another fit of silence despite the cries and howls desperately trying to break free. She could see it, of course. She could always see through the exoskeleton, even if she was the only one. She could see the scars and splinters and the tears gulped back, could see the fears and regrets that tied him down. She could tell when he was on edge; when he was in pain; when he was broken. Even when he insisted that he didn't feel those things, he _did _feel those things. Always had. And she knew it, understood it, because she was very much the same as him. Same fears, same passions.

"Adam..." she finally repeated, and they collapsed forward in unison, arms locked in a tight and unwavering embrace.

All he could do was breathe. Shake, breathe, _calm yourself, Adam... _He lay incumbent upon her, and she was there supporting him, breathing him in as well as the sunset slowed and the metropolis stopped and the _world _stopped. Everything frozen in place as they breathed.

"You made the right choice," Samus was whispering against his ear. "I swear it, Adam. I know you made the right choice."

Perhaps it was a lie. But it was just the right sort of lie. Adam trusted Samus over himself any day, and he trusted her now, trusted what was probably a lie because the lies that escaped through her teeth might as well have been his truth. So he wrapped his arms around the young woman's shoulders and buried his face in her hair, breathing in, out, in, out, in, out...

And there was simplicity there. His chest swelled, glowed, his heart began to pound once more as the exoskeleton melted away and he _thawed_.

"I wish," she was whispering, "that I could take all of this pain from you... I'd hold onto it for you. I'd carry it forever if it meant that you could be happy again, Adam."

He was quiet. "I know you would," he replied softly. "I've seen you try."

"Can I try again?"

Hesitation. "No. Absolutely not."

"But-"

"That is a command, Private," he said, but his voice was cracking, his resolve weak, and then he was leaning into her again, eyes shut fiercely to stop the tears from splashing against her jacket. And so they resumed in relative silence, cherishing in the warmth of each other's company.

They didn't realize that it would be one of their last tender moments together. Never in a million years would it have crossed their minds that at one point there would be a division, whether it be for better or for worse, or that death may tear them apart. After this long, they'd grown accustomed to the other. Had grown accustomed to silent agreements and nods of understanding, of cold behaviors as a sign of affection. And here they were, together in the loneliest sort of way, holding on for dear life as the cold world spun on beneath them and above them and around them.

**More rambling because these two give me feelings.**

**Review?**

**-Ctj**


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